


six minutes

by TheBrokaryotes



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: ??????????????????, Blow Jobs, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn, Power Bottom, dominant yuuri, i wrote this before i saw episode 12 dont mind me, im tired leave me alone
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-23
Updated: 2016-12-23
Packaged: 2018-09-11 12:37:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,754
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8980051
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheBrokaryotes/pseuds/TheBrokaryotes
Summary: If you only had six minutes, how would you spend them?





	

**Author's Note:**

> aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa
> 
> "that was gay as fuck" --aetherbomb

The tie came off before anything else, floating to the floor like a dandelion seed caught in the wind. The tie, that disgusting tie. _I thought he burned that forever ago,_ Victor pondered as he watched it sail and land on the hotel room floor, then shifted his attention towards the man coming towards him, the man with lust in his eyes and sex in his stride.

Victor’s eyes shut as Yuri presses him against the wall by the bed and closes the space between them. Just to their left, Barcelona sprawls out through the wide glass window, twinkling with winter beauty and lights beyond comprehension. Their lips barely meet before Yuri drags them along Victor’s jawline, the heat from his breath hitting Victor’s chin and ghosting over his neck. Victor shivers, hands moving deftly to unbutton his own shirt, before assisting Yuri with his.

Yuri slows him, ceasing his motion. “No time,” he mumbles hurriedly, latching on to Victor’s neck, just high enough so that his scarf would have trouble hiding the hickey he planned on leaving. Victor sighs, skin already alight and tingling with anticipation.

“What’s the hurry,” he asks, feeling his desire swell, his impulses clicking into gear. He drives an idle leg between Yuri’s thighs and pushes up lightly, pressure just hard enough to give Yuri something to moan about, but soft enough to stave him off for a moment.

Yuri takes a second to respond, filling the time with chaste kisses along Victor’s Adam’s apple, which he exposes more readily after a quick nip at the skin. “Six minutes,” he says, hushed, into Victor’s neck, hands sliding down Victor’s waist, his hips, tugging at his belt. Victor lowers his leg and pulls Yuri flush to his torso. Yuri’s weight, heat, the sure feeling of his existence, satisfies Victor’s need for contact. It doesn’t remain for long, as Yuri pulls away within a moment and drops to his knees.

A stone catches in Victor’s throat, and his stomach flutters. Inexperienced as Yuri was, when he was riled, he was capable of giving pretty good head. Like, _wildly_ good. Better than Victor thinks he’s ever had. Part of that was due to the fact that Victor had never loved another human being—another goddamn _thing_ — as much as he loves Yuri, but regardless of why, it didn’t matter. All that mattered were Yuri’s fingers, knowing and attentive, working to release Victor from the prison of trousers.

“Only six?” Victor hums, tilting his head to one side. He laces his fingers through Yuri’s hair preemptively, gently running his nails through the black strands. “Will that really be enough time?” He keeps his voice teasing, knowing full well Yuri had trouble keeping his eros when Victor pushed back with equal force. In the case of two, Victor had more experience, more natural appeal—of them, he was still the technical superior in this department.

But his voice didn’t seem to faze the young skater, who looked up with those beautiful brown eyes, shining behind glasses specked only marginally with random particles, and grinned villainously.

“Oh, Vitya… with what I’ve planned, it may even be too much.”

Victor’s half-hard dick twitches with Yuri’s voice, the vibrations of that low tone sending shivers down his spine. He feels himself squirm a little as a smile spreads across his face, anticipation building, excitement piling up. “Don’t hold back, then,” he urges, tightening his grip on Yuri’s hair.

With a curt nod of approval, Yuri pulls Victor’s belt through the loops, tantalizingly slow. Shortly after, the fly comes undone, button popped, and Yuri is palming Victor through his briefs as he edges the waistband further down his coach’s hips.

A few seconds of teasing is all it takes to get Victor hotter and more bothered than he’d been all week. His breaths are heated, laced with soft grunts and groans as Yuri frees his cock from its cotton stir and presses his lips eagerly against the slightly-soft head. He strokes it gently with a few delicate fingers, all the while keeping his gaze trained to Victor’s eyes.

Yuri’s intense stare is too much for the poor unsuspecting Russian, so he tilts his head back and lets it rest against the cool of the wall, all the while trying to keep his noises low, his lip bitten back. He shuts his eyes and feels around Yuri’s hair with one hand, the other gliding up to his mouth, where he bites his thumb.

Yuri’s niche was on his knees—it was always on his knees, each time they were together, whether he was giving or receiving. He’d mastered this act pretty quickly, with little help from Victor’s end. In all honesty, it wasn’t as if Victor was ever in a state to give advice; each time the opportunity arose, he would soon get lost in whatever throe of passion they’d tossed themselves into and end up babbling incoherent Russian that more-or-less dissolved into nothing. Despite that, Yuri seemed not to need words; Victor’s sounds were enough, guiding his actions down the right path. Loud wasn’t always necessarily good, and quiet wasn’t always necessarily bad. It was the nuances in the vocals that Yuri learned to pick up on, the tiniest changes from moan to moan, the subtle sighs and quickening breaths that told him Victor was close, and of course, the way he would clutch at Yuri’s dark hair before the moment reached its haziest, before he would come undone.

Niche met, mouth at work, Yuri felt satisfied. He knew they didn’t have long before his next press conference, only four more minutes now, at most, and he was not about to let them go to waste. Four minutes spent blowing Victor Nikiforov’s mind were four minutes spent wisely.

Yuri lowers his head decisively, carefully, feeling Victor fill his mouth. He gets halfway before he stops and looks up, just for visual confirmation of what he already knew. Victor was still looking away, noises still low and rumbling in his throat and rattling in his chest. Yuri could feel the vibrations from each moan travel all the way through his body. As much as Victor would deny it, Yuri was fully aware that he loved being teased; the longer he could keep Victor from reaching any kind of climax, the quicker it would occur. Truly, the man was a paradox.

Returning to the task at hand, Yuri twists his tongue around the shaft, pulling off long and slow. He kisses gently at the head again, perfect red lips in sharp contrast against Victor’s muted skin. Victor clenches at his hair, a sharp breath cutting through the air as Yuri drops his head again, nose hitting the soft hair at Victor’s naval, eyes shut tight.

It had taken him a few tries (and more than one ruined evening) to get used to this sensation. More than once he’d choked and killed the buzz, not even Victor’s consolidation and endless assurance able to rebound him. He let those failures teach him, how to hold his breath, the methods in which to keep his mouth relaxed, his gag reflex controlled. Once he’d figured it out, it made everything so much easier. Now he felt calm, relaxed, and allowed his hands to reach up and rest on Victor’s lumbar. He pulls back, slow and steady, and listens eagerly as a mix between a growl and a whimper dribbles past Victor’s lips.

Both of the Russian’s hands have found their way to Yuri’s hair, fingers knotted and twined endlessly with the dark locks. They guide and tug and pull as Yuri gradually begins to even out and quicken his pace, the obscene sounds of his wet mouth on Victor’s cock echoing through the room. Mixed in are Victor’s growing ramblings, soft and sweet nothings that occasionally string into comprehensible phrases.

“Yuri… oh-hoh, Yuri… _dorogaya_ … you’re perfect, _milaya_ —” His nails dig into Yuri’s scalp, hips rising with each of Yuri’s motions. They meet and part, meet and part over and over again, faster and faster. Victor bites at his lips and furrows his brow, voice gaining in octaves as the seconds tick by. Yuri feels tears squeezing their way out from behind his eyelids, not of any pain or discomfort, but from the effort of keeping himself in position for so long, so tight and controlled for Victor’s sake.

Time drains away, melts in the air around them like popsicles in summertime, the wax on a burning candle. It slips away with the sun on the horizon line of beautiful Barcelona, falls to the wayside like Yuri’s tie had just minutes earlier. In a matter of moments, Victor is erratic and hazy-minded, heat pooling around his abdomen, pressure wound tight like a coil. He pleads for release like a beggar does for food, release Yuri is happy to provide with a few more sucks at the head and a drawn out swirl of his tongue up the shaft. Wrapping his lips around Victor one final time, Yuri feels pride and satisfaction well in his heart as he’s shoved forcibly down the length, nearly choking, with hands tearing at his hair. He tastes Victor on his tongue before he hears the shuddering, stuttering breath that would otherwise notify him of his orgasm, and swallows all that he can before pulling off with a _pop_.

Victor is wrecked. His knees are weak, body spent, hands shaking. He releases his grip on Yuri’s hair and runs both hands through his own, reeling. “ _Chert voz’mi,_ Yuri, the things you do to me…”

A soft and mischievous laugh draws his attention to Yuri’s rising form coming closer again, sealing Victor’s lips with a kiss. He tastes himself, but doesn’t recoil, too lost in the moments already past.

Without fuss, Yuri rezips Victor’s slacks, smiling as he pulls back from the kiss. “I’m glad I’ve made such an impression on you,” he whispers slyly, a giggle hiding under his words. He pulls away and sighs, content, adding, “and with a whole minute to spare.”

Victor rolls his eyes, pushing off the wall and engrossing Yuri in a hug, breathing him in and gently nipping at his earlobe.

“Next time, we’ll have more than six minutes,” he assures, “and I’ll be sure to return the favor.”

Yuri smiles, craning his neck to look Victor in the eye. Determination lies behind those irises, a scary kind of focus that Victor only ever saw on the ice or in the bedroom.

“I’ll be waiting.”

**Author's Note:**

> his palms are sweaty knees weak arms are heavy, yuris on his knees already (blaow)


End file.
